


today, today

by peas_god



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Facial Shaving, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Jaskier is very smitten in this one, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Timeline What Timeline, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25804306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peas_god/pseuds/peas_god
Summary: You don't let people with a blade near your neck unless you have a death wish. Or you trust them.Jaskier feels weak at the trust Geralt shows him and something deep in him trembles. He does not know when Geralt started trusting him as much as he does right at this moment and sweet Melitele, he loves this man so very much.Or: "You look like you need a shave, Geralt." Jaskier begins, "I can do it, if you want."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 244





	today, today

**Author's Note:**

> in this house we dont care what point we are in the timeline we only care about these two idiots being in love

"You look like you need a shave, Geralt." Jaskier begins as he crouches right across Geralt at the edge of the tub, eyes looking straight at the witcher in question. "I can do it if you want."

The tavern's noise underneath their room almost fades out of Jaskier's hearing. Almost. It becomes somewhat of a comfort when faced with the heavy silence and even heavier stare of a witcher. Jaskier meets his stare head-on.

The thing is, Geralt does look rougher than he usually is. Even when covered in monster guts. Jaskier was quick to order a bath for their room and usher his filthy grumbly companion in it. The town they're currently staying at is one of the kinder ones, offering them a room along with coin after dealing with their monster problem but they have a reputation to uphold, after all, and Geralt dripping with foul-smelling monster guts may be good at the end of a song but horrible to deal with in actuality. A bath was easy to indulge in and Geralt needed one anyway.

Jaskier doesn't know how Geralt finds the time to keep a neat stubble on his face  _ at most _ even after years of traveling with him. This is a first of seeing him with something longer than a stubble. It caught him off guard when they stumbled upon each other just after the cold winds of winter stopped blowing and spring made its way through the continent. He knows Geralt likes to keep his face neat and as clear as he can, an effort for people to view him more of a human than witcher Jaskier assumes, and a white beard does draw attention with how young Geralt looks.

But it was there and Jaskier cannot take his eyes off it, even after days of travel. Geralt doesn't seem to be bothered by it, mostly. Jaskier caught him running a hand on his jaw a few times, humming one his annoyed hums, and that's about it. The beard stayed and it has been driving Jaskier mad ever since. It doesn't look bad  _ per se _ but it was  _ different _ and he can tell Geralt wasn't much of a fan of it. Tonight has been a breaking point for him, what else can he do about it but remove it himself?

Geralt tilts his head, golden eyes pinning Jaskier under his stare. In the dim light of the room and Geralt's relaxed shoulders, he seems almost… soft. Exhausted too.

"You can say no, you know." Jaskier reaches over to hold Geralt's jaw in one hand, keeping his balance with the other. He runs a thumb over coarse hair. Geralt always, always lets Jaskier touch him and Jaskier feels weak at the privilege of it all. "But I'm offering and I know it annoys you."

Geralt does not waver his stare but leans the tiniest amount into Jaskier's hand. He feels something tremble within him, a rush of warmth washing over him but he tries his best to ignore it.

Jaskier gives Geralt's cheek a pat and withdraws his hand.

Not now, he tells himself. Not yet.

Geralt nods. "Okay." He says, quiet and sure.

Jaskier beams at him, clapping his hands in delight to avoid showing that they’re shaking. “After you clean up, yeah?” His voice breaks at the end of the sentence but he tries to cover it with a laugh. With Geralt’s unamused look, he guesses he failed. Jaskier stands. “I do have a song that’s begging to be written so do take all the time you need.”

Jaskier gives Geralt a wave before making his way over to their bed. He feels Geralt’s heavy stare follow him but he doesn’t mind. Years of silence and stares from Geralt do get old and with how long Jaskier has been following the sour log, he has gotten used to it. Jaskier plops down on the bed and grabs his pack right on top of it, rummaging for his journal and pen. He wasn’t lying when he said he had a song to write but it was also a convenient way for him to avoid overthinking what exactly Geralt agreed to do with him.

He’s penning a song about rockroses and thistles, beautiful small blooms that grow in open fields and rocky terrains. The sounds of his pen on paper and the tub’s water splashing has become a comforting sound to him. It means safety. It means that here he is with Geralt, here he is spending a quiet intimate moment with him. It means that Geralt is comfortable enough with him to strip and bathe in his presence, that Geralt  _ trusts _ Jaskier enough to leave his back open and do something as mundane as bathing. Jaskier knows that he forced himself to be Geralt’s companion, he did get a punch in the gut when they first met, but Geralt could have left him behind just as easily. He has a horse, Jaskier does not. But here they were, still together, still traveling, after years and years and Geralt trusts him. 

Geralt _ trusts _ him enough to let Jaskier  _ shave him.  _ Sweet Melitele this  _ man. _

The sheer weight of it all lies heavy on his shoulders. Geralt’s trust is something Jaskier finds hard to grasp, to understand. Someone like Geralt, a  _ witcher _ like Geralt, trusts him. Jaskier knows that he’s more trouble than he is worth. He is very much willing to bed anyone that asks him of it for there is so very much to love in each person, whether they be a barmaid, a smithy’s son, a noble. He has no fantasies that any of these relationships are there to stay, however, he knows fully well that these people were only seeking someone to warm their bed without any strings attached. Jaskier doesn’t mind, he isn’t exactly gaining nothing from their… dalliances.

Everyone leaves at some point. Or Jaskier was the one doing the leaving. Either goes, really. Even in Lettenhove, in Oxenfurt, in any town that he tries to settle in, in every noble that finds him interesting enough to  _ keep _ , he is the one who decides to leave every time. Maybe he is simply a coward, afraid to make connections that last and always at the whim of his wanderlust. Maybe he is afraid that he would be left bereft if he doesn’t leave first. Maybe he just wants to love without consequences, to care without the weight of it, to just be. Here he is in this world, he will give his love, leave pieces of his heart in every person that asks for it, and he will not stay to see it take root and bloom into something that he can call his.

Here he is, ready to give away pieces of his heart but at the same time, selfishly taking away the pieces he gives out.

_ Are you worth getting lost over love? _ he writes. That was the problem with him, for all he sings about love and being loved, he does not  _ stay. _ Except-

Except for Geralt.

Geralt has been someone he loved- loves and consciously chosen to stay in love for. Numerous times he told himself  _ this it, this is too far, you have to leave  _ but every time he  _ stays. _ And Geralt, his grouchy and heartbreakingly wonderfully heroic witcher, lets him  _ stay _ . Jaskier wants all of it, wants everything Geralt is willing to give him and more. He wants and needs and for once in his life, Jaskier aches with how much he wants to choose Geralt again and again and again.

No matter how much Geralt curses Destiny, Jaskier thinks that this is how She apologizes. By giving Jaskier to him, and Jaskier choosing to stay because he  _ wants to. _ This is his choice, loving Geralt, and his alone.

Jaskier curses softly when he looks over the words he has written. All of them horribly sappy and filled with so much love and  _ not what he was planning to write down. _ This was supposed to be a small ditty about flowers and nature and the beauty of them and here he was waxing about love and trust and choosing to stay and-

He snaps his book shut, tosses it to his side, plants his elbows on his thighs, and buries his head in his hands. His groan is dramatic and drawn out and very fitting for the situation he finds himself in.

He hears Geralt laugh at him, the bastard.

Jaskier props his head with a hand and looks at Geralt. He was stuck in his head for too long that he didn’t realize that Geralt had finished his bath. “And what are you laughing at?” Jaskier says petulantly.

“You.” What an honest man his witcher is. “You look like you were having fun.”

“If by having fun you meant writing absolute drivel then yes, I am having  _ fun. _ ”

Geralt gives him a smile and Jaskier sticks out his tongue at him.

Now that Geralt is all clean and no longer smelling absolutely foul, it is time to address his beard. He thanks Geralt when he nears with a bowl, soap, and razor, handing them all to Jaskier.

Jaskier thinks that Geralt took the soap from Jaskier’s pack. It smells like chamomile and something flowery but he won’t complain. If Geralt wanted to smell like Jaskier then that is a choice that Jaskier wholeheartedly approves of. Now that he has the razor in his hands, it’s definitely his. It is nothing much, his razor, just a blade with a handle made with wood and a crudely carved buttercup on it.

He places the bowl on the edge of the bed. It’s halfway filled with water.

“Why are we using my stuff, Geralt?” Jaskier asks as they switch positions, with Geralt sitting on the bed and him standing. He grabs Geralt’s face by his chin with one hand, the other holding the razor. Geralt lets Jaskier tilt his head to and fro. Geralt isn’t a small man by any means, the complete opposite really, but he still is of height with Jaskier’s chest in this position, the top of his head at level with Jaskier’s chin. He has his hands on his lap, his legs spread to make room for Jaskier. There’s a towel on his bare shoulders for Jaskier to use, he’s thoughtful like that.

“You’re the one who offered.” Geralt offers, humming while Jaskier decides where to start shaving. “And my razor broke.”

“Huh, so that’s why you let this grow out?” Jaskier lathers the soap and then applies the resulting foam on Geralt’s beard. “You could have easily bought one in the nearest town,” the motions are very easy to fall into, Jaskier has done this regularly enough that it is easy to do it for another man, “there’s certainly somewhere you can buy a good razor here.”

“Keep forgetting.” Geralt replies. “And you’re here now.”

The utter nerve of this man. The audacity. “So that’s what it is, you’re  _ using _ me.”

Jaskier loves him very much.

Geralt only hums in reply and Jaskier swipes at his beard in quick, short strokes and then wiping the blade on the towel. They don’t talk but Jaskier sees Geralt sagging just a little bit, his eyes half-open. His hands are steady and Geralt looks almost half asleep.

It is always a treat to see Geralt relax like this. Jaskier may just be a bard but he feels almost invincible when he sees Geralt like this, soft and trusting and content.

“Tilt your chin up a little bit.” Jaskier mutters, afraid to break the silence. He kneels between Geralt’s legs.

It is so easy, for him to mess up and nick Geralt’s neck. To push the blade in his skin and do what hundreds of monsters failed to do. But Geralt trusts him. Geralt trusts Jaskier enough that he is willing to bare his neck to Jaskier while he’s holding a sharp blade, trusts that Jaskier won’t harm him.

He feels a hand hold his wrist. “Your hands are shaking, Jaskier.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier lets a breath out, tense shoulders sagging. He holds the hand holding his wrist with his free hand, thumb circling the skin. He looks up. Geralt looks back down, concern clear on his face. Jaskier’s mouth suddenly feels very dry. “You trust me?”

Geralt nods. “Always.”

“It’s too much sometimes,” Jaskier says when Geralt lets go. “Knowing someone like you trusts someone like me.”

Someone like Geralt, strong and so sure of his abilities. Hard to kill, even harder to bend. Someone like Jaskier, flighty and all over the place. He doesn’t stay in one place long but he is willing to stay by Geralt’s side as long as he is allowed to be.

Geralt tilts his head. “Is there,” he begins reluctantly, softly. “Is there something wrong with that?”

There is something vulnerable in the way Geralt says it. Jaskier refuses to let him doubt what they have.

“No, no.” Jaskier is quick to say. He returns to shaving the underside of Geralt’s chin. The soft sound of the blade scraping his skin comforting. Geralt closes his eyes. “Nothing wrong with it at all.”

Jaskier starts humming halfway through it. Nothing too taxing, just a small lullaby he picked up from his travels. He doesn’t sing any of the words, he doesn’t exactly remember them. Just the tune. 

There is a word that he feels for Geralt at this moment. Something greater than love, soft in a way that lust isn’t.

Devotion, he thinks.

Jaskier loves what he loves. Songs, small colorful flowers, the colors of a sunrise, Geralt. He loves enough for him to stay, for him to see where this love will lead to. Geralt loves him too, he knows. Geralt might not say it but Jaskier knows by the way he lets Jaskier touch him, never flinching away. He knows by the way Geralt drapes a cloak on him when the road gets too cold, knows by how he would always make time for Jaskier to pick up lute strings and pages for his notebook.

Jaskier knows Geralt loves him by the trust Geralt shows. The life of a witcher is rough and Geralt’s life has been rougher than most. The simple act of letting Jaskier shave him is enough to make his hands shake by the meaning of it all.

It doesn’t take long for Jaskier to finish. He stands up and grabs the towel on Geralt’s shoulders to wipe his face carefully, leaving smooth clear skin behind. “There, all done.”

Geralt opens his eyes. “Thank you, Jaskier.” He gives Jaskier one of his softer smiles and Jaskier  _ melts. _

“Anytime.”

After, when Jaskier is done having a bath of his own and Geralt is done cleaning his weapons, they lie down on the bed together. Jaskier wrapping his arms around Geralt, as if he wants to settle deep within his bones, as if he can protect Geralt from any harm that comes his way. Geralt lets him, content to lie in his arms and hear the beat of his heart.

They fall asleep wrapped around each other.

**Author's Note:**

> two men lying on a bed 0 feet apart because they love each other very much


End file.
